On Thursday, Ralph, Mary, Will and I traveled to Patty’s university apartment to celebrate Thanksgiving with her. 400 miles one way. I had debated if we should go at all. Whether the time and expense were something we should spend. We wanted to see Patty and visit with her…but after all, we are going to see her in two weeks when she flies home after the semester is over.

Ralph cooked a turkey on Tuesday with stuffing. We froze most of it and took it with us in a cooler. We bought donuts at the wonderful donut shop in our community and took them with us as well.

When we arrived, it was immediately apparent that the weeks of work, intense demands of graduate study, part-time work as a teacher’s assistant, and a week of influenza had taken a toll on the condition of her apartment. After some initial hugs, we immediately started to clean it up. The dishwasher was soon running. We made a few runs to the dumpster. Will helped Patty do all of her laundry.

Will stayed overnight at her very small apartment and spent more time teasing her and listening to her. He also mopped her floors, vacuumed, and organized her stuff.

We went out to lunch on Thursday and took her shopping. Will bought her a few more pans for his Christmas gift to her. But by Thursday night, she was starting to study again.

We left the next morning for our nine-hour trip back.

I am so glad we went. As an encouragement to her and reassurance to us that she could make it to the end of the semester. Will’s deep love for his sister was evident in his servant’s heart for her. Evidence that autism hasn’t impaired his ability to show love and empathy. A few weeks ago, he hired someone to give his house a thorough cleaning. He has been working 12-14 hours a day for one client on the east coast and another on the west coast. Yet he endured 18 hours of travel by car to Patty’s university to visit with her and clean her apartment. Today, I dropped him off at the airport in our town for his flight to the west coast.

Thanksgiving. Time to give thanks to the Lord for the loved ones in my life. Time to catch our breath after a turbulent autumn for our family.

Ralph has suffered a series of health crises, been to the emergency room three times, admitted to the hospital twice from the emergency room. His weight has ranged from 136 to 172, due in part to what we now know is heart disease and pulmonary hypertension. Many questions remain, but for now he is recovering from major surgery for a small bowel resection and colon resection as the result of a tumor, and a stay in the hospital for pneumonia three weeks later. But he is home now, gaining strength before the next series of doctor appointments and tests. Thank you Lord.

I’ve had to do many things that used to be “his jobs.” Shoveling snow. Changing light bulbs and clocks. Cooking the Turkey for Thanksgiving. Cooking all of the suppers (he cooked about half of them). I was successful with some of his jobs.

But I was unable to start the snow blower. We’ve had already 30 inches of snow in November, and the local weatherman predicted another foot of snow. I hated winter at that point. Probably the first thing that made me cry besides Ralph’s emergency hospital stays. A man from our church came and used his snow blower on our driveway and sidewalk. A blessing. (The additional foot of snow never materialized, but there was already over a foot of snow on Ralph’s car at that point.)

The turkey was a bust at the first attempt. Under Ralph’s instruction, I stuffed the turkey, slathered it with butter, and put it in the oven. I turned the oven to 335. But instead of turning on the timer, I pressed “Time Start” for four hours. By the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. With the advice of the Butterball turkey hotline, I threw it away. Instead of turkey we had beef and noodles with onions and mushrooms. That evening, I went to the grocery store with Will and Patty…and fresh turkeys were on sale for 75% off. The next effort was successful. We had our Thanksgiving dinner on Friday. Still thankful. Still smiling. Still delicious, even though I made the turkey.

Will came home for Thanksgiving and bought us a Christmas tree. Our old giant tree had seen better days. Last Christmas, we used duct tape to hold it together. He knows how important Christmas is to Ralph. Ralph is the one who puts the tree up, coaxes the rest of us to help. Sets up his villages around the dining room. Not sure if the village will get set up this year. But Will set up the tree, gave Ralph some of the branches to unfold, wrapped the lights around the new tree, and he and I put the ornaments on the tree. He placed it where Ralph could see it from the couch he is occupying for the time being. Will loves Christmas, too. Just like his Dad.

Thanksgiving blessings to you all.

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in every circumstance, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus.” I Thessalonians 5:16-18, the Bible

16 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

If I have a life verse, this is it. Practicing thankfulness was the way out of darkness, out of depression, out of despair.

We were thrust into the world of special education when my oldest daughter was five years old. At the young fives qualification testing, she tested at 2.5 years in reading and math readiness. Instead of thinking about young fives placement, we were offered placement in a pre-primary impaired program. Instead of thinking about the academic achievements of my children, the sports achievements; we began thinking about slow, steady progress, two steps forward, one step back. I dreaded the beginning of the school year. And I mourned the sudden loss of dreams for my daughter. I questioned everything we had done up to that point in raising her. I wondered if something was wrong with me and/or my husband.

Within that year all three of our kids qualified for special education placement. In hindsight, we should have been able to figure out that something was wrong. There were clues.

After our oldest daughter had been in her pre-primary impaired class for a while, I mentioned my concerns about my son. He was very easily distracted. He turned the lights on and off, constantly. He opened and shut doors to the extent that we had to put spring locks high up on all the doors to keep him from shutting the doors on his sisters’ fingers. He was a screamer who insisted on sameness. Everything he possessed had to be green if there was a choice. He had to have his sandwiches cut in triangles. We should have known. We should have known.

My daughter’s teacher also felt that my son should be tested. So an appointment was made for my son. After two tests, which was all he needed to qualify for special education placement, the teachers, social workers, psychologists, and therapists felt that he should be tested more. In all, he went through eight evaluations. It was emotionally draining. My husband and I, along with our local school representative met with all the evaluators in one big meeting to go over the meaning of the tests. My husband did not want to go because he felt that all they were going to talk about was what was wrong with his little boy. They said he was mentally impaired, had a mild speech impairment, and had autistic traits. But one of the testers told us we should not get involved in the local autism society. (We received some less than stellar advice along the way).

Toward the end of my son’s evaluations, the testers suggested that my youngest daughter also be tested. At this point, I was weary of testing. I told them that they could only perform two evaluations; they could only do what it took to know if she qualified for special education services. She also qualified for special education placement. At this point, my older daughter and son were in opposite sessions of preprimary impaired preschool; one in the morning and one in the afternoon. The teachers wanted me to bring my youngest daughter to the special school for her therapy. I said no. I cannot be stretched that much.So they had a speech therapist come to my house for my youngest daughter once a week.

The first two years of dealing with all the meetings and special education therapy homework from the school took a toll on my emotional health. I was depressed and crying all the time. We became isolated from parents with normal children, even my siblings. Part of that was our withdrawal – I could only stand so much bragging about how advanced their children were.

When I thought of the future, there was a wall before me. I couldn’t visualize the future. I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. There was so much fog, I wasn’t even sure there was a tunnel.

Then God gave me this verse.”Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances for this is God’s will for you in Jesus Christ.” (I Thessalonians 5:16-18)

I decided that even though I couldn’t see the future laid out before me, I could give thanks. Every day. I could do God’s will. I could obey God in doing this.

As for praying continually, that was easy. I was doing that already, every day. Some of the the praying was questioning God’s wisdom in choosing me for this job (James 1:5) Some of it was crying out to God. Some of it was seeking wisdom, because God says that he will not upbraid a person for asking for wisdom.

But rejoicing? That was a bit much to ask of a person. I found that to be very difficult for a long time. So I practiced what I could do, and waited for God to tell me how I could rejoice. Eventually, I began to sing songs of rejoicing. Just by singing those songs, I could rejoice.

As I began to practice purposeful, intentional thankfulness, my depression began to lift.

This week, at my quarterly psychiatric med review, my psychiatrist said, “Adults with autism have a hard time getting competitive employment because the lack of reciprocity creeps people out.” Now why did he say that? To help me grapple with reality, to temper my expectations and hopes; and/or was it a reflection of his own professional experience, his own despair?

As I was driving home, with tears running down my face, I wondered, what hope is there? To God I cried out. What now? Is all this work toward independence going to come to nothing? Is all their hard work and all of our work to come to nothing because those who have the choice of whether to hire them are “creeped out” by their autistic traits? What if they never find employment, or the employment that they do find is far below their abilities?

Then came to me with such force the words, “Rejoice, pray, give thanks.” At the times in my life that I cannot see beyond the next day, weeks, months, years, this verse from the Bible comes to my mind. I Thessalonians 5:16-18. “16 Be joyful always; 17 pray continually; 18 give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” This was the Holy Spirit speaking in my life. A direction, a comfort (He is called the Comforter), an upwelling of faith and strengthening. I can’t explain it.

But I also see that the direction of my prayers for my children has been temporal, worldly, and selfish. When my husband and I married, I prayed at the altar that our children would be a blessing to others and that they would glorify God in their lives.* As I remembered that prayer, I realized the direction of my petitions should change. “Father, I pray that my children will be a blessing in the lives of others regardless of their employment status. I pray that they will be a blessing to their future employers and that those employers will be glad they hired them. Thank you for the blessing that they are in my life and the lives of others. Thank you for their faith. Thank you for their desire to work and for their strong work ethic. Thank you that they help around the house with little complaint above and beyond their paid chores. Even now they are serving you.”

Will sings in the choir and is helping out with the church website. Mary serves two afternoons a week at the local homeless shelter using her accounting skills in accounts receivables.

Children are a gift from the Lord. I remember that we live by faith, and not by sight.

*There was reason that I might never have had children; I had had stage IV endometriosis and one of my ovaries had been destroyed by the disease. At my first appointment for my third pregnancy, my doctor expressed amazement that it seemed so easy for me to get pregnant when others with far less disease struggled.

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